AN: Heh. If anyone is even REMOTELY interested in me continuing this bad boy, you're gonna have to review. So there. :-P
Choose a hobbit life, choose the shire, choose a job, choose a pint, choose hairy feet, arms, legs, and palms. Choose mushrooms, chose a decent hole to live in, choose living your life passed out on the floor of the Green dragon, choose pissin' it all away until you reach you eleventy-first birthday and shite you way down to the grave and the little brats you spawned move in to your hole. Choose your future, choose life.
I chose not to choose hobbit life,
Who needs life when you've got pipeweed.
Merry Brandyspud was talking to me.
"Now you see, same as always, Gandalf comes up with the fireworks. Not as good as last year, where the box office was split, and yet not as bad as the year before that, when no one showed. So the-"
"Merry!" I said to the bastard.
"Shut it. Now as I was sayin."
The little sod started up a fresh comparison of the fireworks. I went out. I left the little smelly hole we were living in, and walked into Tookburogh. I was going over to Sam.
Sam is a guy I hate. I wouldn't touch him if he wasn't the local pipeweed dealer. His father got him into the job. I went over and bought some from him. After the deal he took me over, and showed me some mushrooms that he had recently gotten his hands on.
"Shitin good ones too. See." He stuck the thing under my nose. "Freeesshh" The little bollock said to me in a sing-song voice.
"Bloody hell." This bastard had the best way of gettin on your nerves. I snached the things from him, shoved a couple dollars in his hand, and walked off.
To get high with mushrooms, you first have to spend a couple hours warming and preparin yourself with pipeweed. You can't take a lone hit with a mushroom, you've got to ride it out. Bucket for vomit, thats all you really need. I nibble a corner.
It's six hours later, and I'm constipated as hell. That bugger Sam didn't tell me about that. Git. It feels like I'm tryin to shite out a horse here.
It's two hours later and I'm not constipated any more. I'm running along the street now, buttocks clenched to prevent a very unplesent alternitave. I stumble into the Green Dragon.
THE WORST TOILET IN HOBBITON
It's times like these that make me wish in retrostpect that I had chosen life. I pass Frodo, and he cocks and eyebrow at me. Damn him. I burst through the men's room door and am almost knocked dead by the smell.
At times like this I dream of bathrooms with scented oils, attendants standing in corners with towels for your face, and oh so smooth silk toiled paper in the bog. Not this one. Saying it was a hole in the ground would be an insult to holes.
I rip off my hobbit trousers, and... sweet sweet relief comes to me....